


To A Love That Refuses To Die

by thankstyler



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 00:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7383763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankstyler/pseuds/thankstyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll never, ever get used to you being mine, because I just <i>love</i> you."</p><p>**this is rlly old and awful sorry</p>
            </blockquote>





	To A Love That Refuses To Die

**Author's Note:**

> update: thanks for all the feedback on this work! i really liked it when i wrote it- however, it's a bit choppy and messy and i'm sorry to disappoint with that. thank you for reading.

You're seventeen, and Dirk shows up to your birthday party with Jane and Roxy. 

It's halfway through eating so much cakes and cookies that you'll fear you'll be sick when Dirk pulls you off to the side. Everything is going great, and you're hoping he's having a nice time. Your heart sinks exponentially whenever it's just you and him, only to jump into your throat whenever he speaks first. Today is one of those days, where he finds words before you do and expresses himself nonchalantly. 

"Your present is on the table, but I'm not sure if it's really enough to satisfy you, so I thought of something a little more sentimental and concieted and probably ironic in some way to give you, if you'd like it." Everything he says is rushed, but still casual. 

"Of course I'd enjoy it, Dirk. I enjoy all gifts from you, and the girls!"

"Have you ever seen my eyes?"

It takes you off-guard and makes you think. Ever since you two were little and wrestled on the carpet of your bedroom, you don't think the peculiar shades have ever fallen askew enough to catch a glimpse of Dirk's eyes. You've never taken much time to think about it, and wonder what color they are now that it's in your brain. What shape they are, even. Why he hides them in the first place. 

"No," you respond after some time of thinking and coming up totally blank. 

"I told you it was conceited, but I'm sensitive about it, and was just wondering if the sentimental side of me would... I dunno, pull through enough to finally fess up about them."

"I don't think there's all that much to fess up about in terms of your eyes, Strider, but you do have me very curious as of now and I'd very much enjoy seeing them. If you'd be so kind." 

You watch as he takes a breath and hesitantly pulls the sunglasses that normally only display your reflection from his pale skin. Wonderfully blonde lashes are touching his face, because his eyes are closed, and you can tell he's very nervous. 

When he opens his eyes, yours go absolutely wide. 

They're sunshine colored, the same amber orange as the most synthetic cough syrup or gummies. For some strange reason, you can't bring yourself to look away from them. Dirk's eye color is absolutely hypnotizing, and they suit him incredibly well. It goes with his hair color and the way his eyebrows are shaped, like the scalene triangles of his shades. There are flecks of light brown across his iris, and you simply can't look away until he brings his hand up to shield them with a nervous half-smirk-half-smile, and he slides the sunglasses back over them.

You hug him and make him promise up and down to show them to you again sometime. 

\--

You're nineteen, and Dirk is laying on the couch beside you. Well, you're sitting on his legs, but that's besides the point. 

You're both slightly tipsy, but are sobering up by the request of Dirk's caretaker (you honestly don't know why he still has one. You think he's a fine grown lad) in your controlled alcohol test. Both of you decided vodka was too strong, and rum was too sweet, but you both seemed to enjoy whiskey and Dr. Pepper just fine. Now there's an Indiana Jones movie on that the two of you are watching, at least a little, in your intoxicated state of mind. 

Dirk looks over at you, and your head lolls over to look at him, too. 

"You're pretty," you blurt, out of nowhere. He's in a muscle shirt that he's had for forever, and his biceps are bulky from fixing cars at the mechanic shop and hauling those heavy textbooks to the college every morning. 

"I know," is his response. Dirk doesn't sound as drunk as you feel. 

"I wanna look at you better," you mention a couple minutes later. Your hand reaches for his shades, but he intercepts your wrist halfway. 

It turns into a half-assed tussle that involves the both of you rolling on the carpet to the classic Indie Jones soundtrack in the background. You were a varsity wrestler in high school, and manage to pin him under your muscle-based weight that probably outdoes his simply because he's thin as a rail and metabolism-based. Your hand falls to his shades, but you still look for permission in his expression.

He nods. 

You pull the triangles from his face as if they're on fire and hook them into the collar of your own shirt. You're back to pinning him, as if he could get you off anyways. However, seeing Dirk's eyes is almost dangerously distracting, and you get lost almost immediately. 

They're immensely amber today, almost golden like the outside of a chocolate coin, and they bore into you like you're doing something right. His eyebrows remain seated where they are, as do his lips, but you can see his pupils wandering your expression, your face, and your body. The way you've got him under you makes the moment all the more sensual. 

Suddenly, his weight is pushed forward and to the left, and he's got you on your back with your arms pinned above your head.

Everything is a blur from there. You remember the heat of his lips against yours, and the stinging sensation of a lip ring he'd gotten out of ironic purposes. You remember the lovely hiss of his name on your teeth, the tongue in your mouth, the way he wouldn't let you move and how he refused to let any pressure off of any part of you. He'd kiss anywhere but your mouth, whether mouthing at your neck or your collarbone or your jaw. 

You'd both regained your sanity and were sitting on the couch, but you had a little bit of a craving for a certain Strider's eyes. You're mildly more sober when Bro comes home, and that's pretty late at night. 

When he walks in, you can tell, because the blood shoots from your heart to your face, and you separate from Dirk with a fragile smack of your lips, practically jumping out of his lap. 

You're smaller than he is, though bulkier, and it's awkward for you to fall back on your ass upon being so startled, but you have Dirk's shades clipped to your shirt and he's playing off being caught like it's completely normal and fine. He just looks at the television with those perfect amber orange, lustful eyes, and D gives him a harsh stare. 

Dirk returns it to him, though he seems more breakable, less experienced in his stoicism and easily tossed apart by somebody who's got a better grasp.

"You need to go home," D says, and Dirk gets off his ass and practically marches up to his brother, but there's a practiced grace towards his attitude. 

"He's damn well fine staying here, thanks."

"Look, you little twat, this could get my industry in serious trouble if they find out my little bro's having a fucking relationship with somebody completely off the grid lile this--"

"D, lay off."

"What are you gonna do if I don't, asshole?"

"Lie to tabloids. Say you're a homophobe, say you still put me under a caretaker because you don't trust me to make my own fucking choices. Leave me the hell alone, and let my personal life be personal."

"You wouldn't fucking dare."

"Do you want to try me some more?"

"Dirk, you're grounded, six weeks. I'll drive your friend home."

"To hell you will."

You've never seen his eyes so full of hatred, fiery rage completely consuming the beauty of the orange. It's a thick type of anger, the type that Dirk will need help cooling off through gentle coaxing and promises of good things. Slowly, you stand up, taking the discarded overshirt you're normally wearing. 

Dirk ends up punching the wall that night, and you get driven home and are formally asked to not visit Dirk's home until he's moved out. 

You sneak in late at night, and you'll wake up early to sneak out the next morning so you can cuddle your nights away. 

You're Dirk's boyfriend before he's ungrounded.

\--

You're twenty-one, and Dirk is over at your house to celebrate with the girls. 

It's a small party with minimal alcohol, because Jane isn't quite of age yet and you don't want her to be uncomfortable. You recall the time Dirk showed you his eyes the first time, and the last time he had. It feels like forever, and is forever. You wonder if you can get him to show them off again tonight. You're the least sober of the bunch, though your Nanna is keeping a close eye on alcohol consumption. 

It's about one in the morning when it's just you and Dirk left awake, and he's spooning you on the couch to Tangled's "At Last I See The Light". The movie has been playing in thr background, and it's one of your favorites, so you're more than thankful to enjoy your birthday watching it. Even if it isn't technically your birthday anymore.

Dirk taps your head to get your attention, and you tilt your head to see bright eyes, so overflown with love that you can't help but feel fuzzy. His pupils are so far blown that you can only see a sliver of the iris, but it's absolutely beautiful and brilliantly orange, contrasting so harshly against the darkness of his pupils. 

Your breath is caught in his mouth in a chaste kiss, and it takes him a while to stop absently covering his eyes when you stare.

He's such a pretty picture, so perfectly displayed for your eyes and yours only. Eventually, those perfectly golden brown irises are covered up by pale eyelids, and the forest green of your eyes is lost to sleep as well. 

When you wake up, Dirk is out and about with his shades back on his face. It still makes you so happy that he'll show them to you when it matters, and that they take your breath away whenever he does so. 

\--

You're twenty-four, and Dirk's just moved in with you to a new home that you've worked your asses off for. 

From odd jobs to strange college courses, you two have done it all, and finally got your dream house in the heart of New York's suburbs. You'll still have enough to take the half a month trip to England and see relatives, and you have your best friend and lover at your side all the time. He's currently just awake, and his arms slink around your torso as you cook breakfast for the morning's activities. 

The both of you are healthy and happy, and you're going to head to the gym later and drag Dirk's skinny ass with you if it means you carry him. He's always been rather stocky and gangly, but it's always just a tad ridiculous to see him so thin that when he turns sideways he might as well be invisible. Of course, he has lovely arms and abs, but that's all from his metabolism that's slowly catching up with his age. 

"What're you making?" Dirk mumbles into your ear, and he's brushed his teeth but his breath is still hot against the sensitive parts of your neck.

"Omelettes," you respond blandly. 

"We should go out tonight and give you a break from being the housewife."

"Bullshit, you're the housewife. I just cook, you do all the cleaning."

"Mm, yeah, but I hug you while you work and distract you, and make you angry like a housewife."

"Drive me bloody batshit, Dirk."

"Is that not the point? Like now, you should look at me."

Your breath hitches when you turn, because there's his beautifully exposed expression. He's neutral right now, those scalene triangle eyebrows rested sleepily over perfect, sandy orange eyes. His pupils are of normal proportions, but still captivating enough to make you lose your train of thought and your air in your lungs. He needs to have his eye color be illegal, because it's very fucking distracting. 

Especially when the boy attached to the eyes is pretty, too. 

"You can stop staring and making me insecure," he insists, but you just smile and finish cooking, passing a plate to him and you join him at the table a moment later. 

When he eats, his eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a little moan of happiness. It's satisfying to see them crinkle at the edges, and you can feel him slowly grow stressed and pressured by all your staring. You can't stop, it's a terrible habit of yours to notice his eyes whenever they're available. 

He slides the shades on after breakfast, and your daily activities go as planned for the rest of the week. 

\--

You're twenty-eight, and Dirk took you to the beach today. 

It's a lovely evening, the type where the sun spreads the sky out into waves of colors that you didn't know existed until that particular sunset was happening. Violets and magentas fold across clouds, turning them candyfloss pink like Roxy's old hairstyle. The salt in the air and the water has everything fresh, but still natural in the air. 

Dirk's hair threatens to come undone with small curls at the tips from getting it damp and the humidity in the oxygen surrounding them. Yours is far messier than it normally is, with several extra dark curls making it all the more poofy. You simply push it aside because the waviness is driving you insane. 

The waves make crashing wooshes over the sand as assorted gulls and birds chirp and caw out at the only two left on the beach. Dirk is holding your hand, and everything seems tranquil and beautiful like this. His expression is still blank despite all of the fantastic beauty surrounding them, and he almost seems tense if you didn't know better than that. 

He squeezes your hand to get your attention, and his other hand is in his pocket. You both don't have your shirts, Dirk merely has his jeans and you just have on the green, floral print swim trunks you've owned for ages. You turn, and are greeted with your reflection in the triangular shades he calls cool. 

The golden glint of his lip ring he's never stopped wearing and the chinstrap he refuses to shave attract your attention, before it flutters back to the blank glass at his eyes. 

"I've got something important to ask you," he says, and it sounds strained because he's dehydrated. You're curious, and the only way you really know it's truly serious is when he removes his sunglasses for the occasion. 

You're greeted with small, small pupils and sunshine bright irises that capture your attention in an instant. They suit his appearance oh-so well, and you wonder if he could be anymore beautiful in any sense of physical appearance. 

"It's something I've been meaning to ask you for a long time, Jake."

"Please, do tell."

He's so hesitant as he drops to kneel, fishing in his pocket for something. He pulls out a small black box, and pops it open to show off a simple golden band with a single diamond in the center. Your hand goes to your mouth, and tears sting your eyes. 

"Jake English," his voice shakes on your name, but he's smiling so brilliantly wide that you can see how the piercing pulls on his lip. "Would you be my one and only, as you have for nine long years? Would you be willing to get as old as dirt with me, and let me sit on you and fall asleep on you, to always have those beautiful lips against mine and to get married to my sorry ass?"

You're crying, and all you can utter is a quick, "I fucking love you," when he slides the ring onto your hand. You feel breathless, and he stands and pulls you into a huge hug, followed by a lengthened kiss. He peppers them all over your face and you end up watching the sunset in your car.

You end up watching him in your car, because he keeps on catching your attention just to tease. He's in your lap, having a lovely time messing with your hair and your lips are being nibbled at and your face is redder than his because he hasn't put back on his shades and his eyes look so lovely like this. 

By the end of the night, your lips are swollen from all the kissing and his are, too, so you know you've done a good job with your new fiancé. 

\--

You're thirty, and today you and Dirk are getting married. 

You're so nervous it hurts your chest and makes Roxy nervous just looking at you, but before you know it, you've got on your suit and Jane and Roxy are hugging you so tightly and closely. You're anxious, more jittery than you've ever been. Your hair is slicked back with a pool of curls at the tips, and you're almost positive that you'll explode if the ceremony doesn't start soon. 

"Jakey, c'mon," Roxy laughs, "you're gonna be the cutest fuckin' couple in NY, and you know it! Dirk looks fantastic, and you look fantastic, 'nd the reception's gonna be amazin'. Fifty bucks says Dirk's gonna cry, Jane." Roxy turns to the other girl to one side of her, who's shy in the bridesmaid dress. Roxy's Dirk's best man, and Jane is Jake's. An assortment of others follow. 

"Fifty bucks? I doubt that he'll cry, but not that much!" Jane huffs, but they still shake. They're trying to calm you down. 

"You girls are the best."

Your Nanna will walk you down the aisle, and your youngest cousin, Jade, will be the flower girl. Aranea is your ring bearer, and the pastor is a kind man Dirk had close relations through his brother's big business. 

You're nervous, still. 

The music starts as people begin to walk down the asile. Groomsmaids, your best men, Jade, Dirk, and finally it all comes down to you and Nanna. Your breathing is ragged and awful and you're terrified, though you're still wearing the engagement ring, you're wearing Dirk's favorite style of tuxedo on you, you've memorized your vows. And now the music has dimmed down, and Nanna grabs your arm so lovingly and starts you down the asile. 

People turn and look at you, but you're far more focused on Dirk, who doesn't have his shades on. His eyes are wide and his chin drops a little bit, but you think he looks fantastic in the solid black suit he has. Roses coat the ceremony stage. 

The pastor starts his drawl when you finally get to the stage and clasp Dirk's hands in your own. 

"We're gathered here today to witness the marriage..."

Dirk is captivating, pale skin so harshly contrasted by the black of his tuxedo, and his eyes so damn bright, and his hair still meticulously styled, undoubtedly by himself because he doesn't allow many people to touch it. His bowtie is a crisp white to match the platinum blonde in his hair, and you silently wonder how much more beautiful one person could get. His face is lightly blushed, undoubtedly from you giving him so much attention. 

You can't help he's eye candy. 

It's time for vows, and yours are first, and you can just barely bring yourself to speak loud enough for anybody other than Dirk to hear. But you manage to raise your voice. 

"I, Jake English," your voice starts shaky. "Will cherish and adore you for the rest of my life, and promise to be yours for the rest of my natural life, and the rest of my afterlife. I want to grow older than dirt with you, and retire in a chair next to you, and make mistakes and fix them with you. I want to feel nineteen for the rest of my life, and I know I can with you. You're my oxygen when I can't get to the surface fast enough, and you're the one who hugs me every morning and calls me your housewife. You're the one I drag away from the computer and the one I allow all access to myself to. You are my one and my only and I will cherish every bit of you for every year we begin growing old together, and every year we pretend we're still hormonal teenagers. I promise you, Derrick Ryan Strider, my everything, and will be yours until the day my eyes will not open."

You feel the dizziness in your head and the fuzziness in your heart, and have unwavering focus on him as he continues along his words. 

"I, Dirk Strider, want to make you everything I have. You're the most beautiful, charming, caring, loving, and hospitable person in the entirety of the world. I remember every time I've ever spent with you, I remember proposing to you last year, and I remember celebrating your seventeenth birthday with you. I remember asking you out on a night you had to sneak around to see me. I remember being anywhere I could with you, and buying a house with you. All of my memories, the best ones, are littered with images of you. You're going to be my first, and only love. Even when our bodies shrivel into raisins and we look terrible, our brains will be sharp and we'll still be nineteen. You'll still be built like a varsity wrestler, and I'll be a stick. We'll remember times like these and never wonder what happened because we stayed the same for our entire lives. My relationship with you will never die, not even when I need to nap twice a day and you and I care for each other. I refuse to lose you to any grasp of time. Because this is how it's supposed to be when you love somebody, it's supposed to be magical and never die and never getting used to you. I'll never, ever get used to you being mine, because I just _love_ you."

You're both sobbing, and hug each other tightly. Your friends and family cheer.

"Do you, Jake English, take Derrick Ryan Strider, to be your husband?"

"I do, with every ounce of my heart."

"And do you, Derrick Ryan Strider, take Jake English to be your husband?"

"I do, without a doubt."

"You're now pronounced man and man, you may kiss your husband."

It's a blur, but you recall Dirk spinning you around and dipping you, before his lips crash to yours and your arms are around him. You get a rising cheer from the audience until you separate, and end up getting rice thrown at you and then you end up at the reception. 

Toasts are given, dances are had, and you and Dirk never seem to be apart for very long. In both the sense of your lips and your hands.

You've both agreed there isn't much that's better than sex, but you do know that when it happens that night, the heat and the closeness and everything makes you louder and louder, makes you love this man even more. Makes you feel like you belong.

You do belong, belong to him, belong in his arms.

\--

You're sixty-two, and sitting in a nursing home next to your husband. 

Jade is visiting you today.

There's lost happiness pooling in your gut as you notice everything different but painfully the same about Dirk. He stopped wearing his lip ring, and the hole closed long ago. The part of his lip where it used to be is still lighter than the rest of his lips. He's also stopped just wearing a chin strap, he has an actual bit of facial hair. His hair hasn't aged a day, though it's never styled and normally tied behind his hair in a nubby man-ponytail. His entire body is still a thin rod, but now it's more wrinkly and less worrying than before. 

He's been diagnosed with dementia. 

On days like today, you have the man who calls you his housewife and laughs at you and makes silly jokes that make you groan. The kind that will wear shades and tease you about it. 

Other days, you have a stranger. 

Your heart hurts on those days, because you know he's trying very hard to remember things like why he's got you by his side and why he's holding your hand and why he's wearing those shades. You've never seen his eyes so dull on those days, lifeless and unwanting. 

Some days, he forgets your name. After being reminded a couple times, he'll recall and apologize and give you a kiss for the trouble. 

Some days, he forgets your face. After showing him some photographs, he'll remember and profusely apologize again. 

Some days, he forgets you. After reminding him of your name and showing him photographs, he may or may not recall and apologize.

He forgets why he wears sunglasses and stops, and you can see the muted amber color that used to take your breath away all the time, and it loses the spark. 

One day, he forgets he loves you. 

You try to get him to remember, strain to show him anything you can. Wedding photos, teenage photos, beg him to kiss you, beg him to tell you he wants you and needs you like he did in those vows. 

You wake up the day before your sixty-third birthday, and Dirk does not. 

\--

You're eighty, and it's your anniversary. 

You've reserved the spot next to Dirk in the cemetery for what feels like forever, and always return on your anniversary even if it makes you cry and wheeze. You always bring orange flowers, and you always bring a photo of you two as kids and put it with the others, carefully taping them down so the staff will still take them but know that you don't want them to. 

Today, you also have a note.

You walk up to his stone, which will soon be doubled into a second one so you can grow as old as dirt with him. You've laid down the flowers and sat on the grass, ruffling through it like it's his hair.

Oh, his hair. The most beautiful platinum color in the universe, always with too much product in it and always just the right amount of soft. Pinned back or forward, gently spiked or fluffed into a cloud. The ghostly white trail from his bellybutton to his waistband you used to mess with, the fluffs he'd shed on bad days. 

His lips, always soft. Never chapped, always so beautifully sweet with some alcohol or savory in his natural state. Either peirced or not, you were addicted to the way those lips felt against yours. 

His body, always skinny. He never managed to gain much weight from anything other than muscle mass, and you would feed him anything he wanted to eat. The way his arms will drape around your waist, and how he'd just tickle your ear with the word "housewife".

His voice, never straightened out but always shaking or cracking or rough. So perfectly suited to how manly he was. The way it made you shiver in the right ways and when it was excited all of the other times, always enthused about something he'd done or learned. 

His eyes. 

Always so perfectly captivating in everything he did. You'd get lost in them, and distracted by them, and love them with all your heart. You felt your heart in your chest whenever he'd look away out of embarrassment and not being used to your staring at him directly, actually piercing his expressions. The way his pupils showed what he was doing, but his irises displayed the most beautiful color in the universe. 

You've broken down crying, remembering the things he couldn't remember, loving the man who wanted nothing more than to love you. 

\--

You're seventeen, and Dirk has shown up for your birthday party with Roxy and Jane.

You're nineteen, and Dirk is laying on the couch beside you. Well, you're sitting on his legs, but that's besides the point. 

You're twenty-four, and Dirk's just moved in with you to a new home that you've worked your asses off for. 

You're twenty-eight, and Dirk took you to the beach today.

You're thirty, and today you and Dirk are getting married. 

You're sixty-two, and sitting in a nursing home next to your husband. 

You're eighty, and it's your anniversary.

You're any and all ages in between, and you spend your last breath thinking of the man who made those years the most special of any of your past and future lives. You thank the Lord for granting you a treasure like Derrick Strider, and you're angry that his mind went. You curse that part, but you do not, however, feel sad anymore.

\--

But now.

You're still seventeen, it's still your birthday, you're still held onto Dirk and making him promise to show his eyes again. 

You're not sure what came over you, but you're crying. 

With only a little stutter, you utter "I love you" to him, and he tenses up all of his muscles individually, but still clings to you like you're a teddy bear. 

"I love you, too, " he says, but you look at him with your bleary eyes and hiss through your teeth. 

"Dirk, I love you so much. I want to grow older than dirt with you, I want to... I never want to leave your side, and I want you to never leave mine because you're a blessing and a half."

"Jake," Dirk's hands trail to your waist. "Happy birthday. I love you, I love you, I love you." And he kisses you. 

Your name is Jake English, and you will forever be caught at seventeen with the one and only love of your life that you will grow older than dirt with, and that you will forever cherish and enjoy every lasting memory of even when the seventeen stops and then returns in a flood of emotions.

_To You, Dirk Strider, My Only Husband And Forever Love, I Wish You A Happy Fiftieth Anniversary, Even If You Could Not Be Physically Present. Wherever You Are, I Love You._


End file.
